Point of view is all a matter of perspective. Are these his feet or my feet?
Is this her tummy, or my tummy. Okay. No contest. I vote for MY tummy.
When I first started writing, I was told never to write for an editor in first person. Why? No one seemed to know for sure. The most I could figure out is that editors seemed to think that two main characters couldn’t be fleshed out emotionally if we only “saw” into one of their heads. I was too nervous to speak up then, but now? I say bulltwackle.
I believe that once a writer moves beyond describing how a character feels happy (sad, greedy, shrewd), she/he can then learn how one character discerns happiness (sadness, greediness, shrewdness) in another.
We do it all the time in real life. Rarely does a person walk up and say, “Guess what! I’m happy!!” But looking at someone’s smile, hearing laughter, seeing how they bounce on their toes, noticing the glow in their eyes—it all tells us. First person can portray that same thing.
In an informal writing class that used writing prompts, several of us struggled. After a few minutes, the teacher suggested we write the same scene in first person. It was so much easier! And more emotional, too. I was surprised. The exercise taught me that when a scene gives trouble, try writing it in first person and then switch it back to third. Just be sure to edit well! There’s nothing worse than lots of “she saids,” “he saids,” and then an “I said” thrown in.
I read a lot of books now written in first person so editors must not hate it so much anymore, huh? 😉 That’s a good thing because it means that we can choose which POV style suits us best. Choice is always a good thing.
Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.
Dee
Only a Good Man Will Do: Seriously ambitious man seeks woman to encourage his goals, support his (hopeful) position as Headmaster of Westover Academy, and be purer than Caesar’s wife. Good luck with that!
Naval Maneuvers: When a woman requires an earth-shattering crush of pleasure to carry her away, she can’t do better than to call on the US Navy. Sorry, Marines!
like to speak for a moment on how romance novels make our lives better.
heroine and her FBI man, or a staid teacher and his stripper girlfriend. There’s no demand for heavy thinking or bracing for a tragic ending. Love is going to win in the end, the mystery will be solved, the villain will be vanquished. Contrary to being insipid escapism for unhappy housewives, romance novels give our minds a chance to recharge and our souls a necessary boost.
Romance novels make us believe in love, know that happily ever after does exist, and that a true kiss from our soul mate can change even the most awful world into a place we want to be. Of course, we all know that romances are novels, fiction. But if a little enjoyment for a few hours a day makes us happier and better able to face scraped knees, broken down cars, coffee spilled on the last clean blouse in the closet, I’d say they greatly influence how we go about our daily lives.
But what if I’d been assigned to another math class, we hadn’t hit it off as friends, I hadn’t gone to the Christmas concert, or arrived a few minutes later? Small moments in anyone’s life but they combined to form a unique path in my life and afforded me the kind of love I’d dreamed of as a child. Maybe I would have been just as happy without having met my hubby—maybe I’d become a doctor who saved lives, or married to a professional living in a house with a white picket fence with two-point-three children running around the yard with a black Labrador puppy. Or maybe my life wouldn’t have been happy. Maybe, fate having passed me by, settling me into another algebra class, I would have remained alone. That road not 
traveled might be fun to think about, but my philosophy rests more along the lines that we live the lives we should, and we should make every effort to be happy.
From its DVD writable drive to its mic plug. I’ve lived with this machine for so many years I had to look up the date we bought it. Now its chugging away back in the office trying to recover files at the manufacturer’s settings so we can see how much stuff we’ll be able to recover. (Note to self: Have “Back up more!!” tattooed on forehead.)
by Becky Wade that were Christian books (yes, I like my reading eclectic 😉 ), True to You and Falling for You. Both made me laugh and Falling for You made me cry, too.
it’s mostly been eradicated here in the U.S. I was lucky. One leg and my back were affected, and even luckier, my godfather was a Shriner, so as soon as I stabilized and reached the age the Shrine Hospitals would take me, he got me in. The Shriners were like my fairy godmothers throughout my life. I can’t think of a finer organization! So thank you Shriners! I mention all that because having polio is part of my childhood and my memories. So here goes…
was my favorite person in the world. He was my mom’s stepfather and I guess he’d always wanted children, and then he got me. I rode him around the living room like a horse, danced while standing on his feet, and watched TV with him while sitting on his stomach. Nothing I did was wrong or bad as far as he was concerned. I loved that man with all my heart!
already flattened the tired once by riding the bike all over the flight deck when he could. I was so excited over that bicycle I couldn’t see straight Soooo…he taught me to ride but not to stop. I used to run into things—fences, trees, etc.—in order to stop instead of using the brakes. Don’t judge. I’m a slow learner. We took that bike with us to Virginia, our next duty station, and I rode it for years.
pew to pew. Since I’m five feet two inches, such a dress was not in the cards. But I did find a dress I liked okay and I got it for $75, so I was happy. I made my headpiece and bouquet from silk flowers and a yard or two of tulle, and told my bridesmaid to wear whatever she wanted. I was not Bridezilla. In fact, I didn’t care all that much about the wedding—I cared only for the groom. Is that weird? Yeah, maybe, but I watch all those brides on Say Yes to the Dress and wonder sometimes if they care more for the wedding than they do the marriage. I didn’t have 
that bridal moment when I first tried on the dress—I didn’t really care what I wore so much. It was white, it was long and demure, and it was cheap. ‘Nuff said.
front of everyone. But when all was said and done, I kissed everyone except hubby—my maid of honor, the minister, the best man. Hubby said I was about to head for the organist when he turned me and took my up the aisle.
thought that if I could afford it, I’d rent a cottage in the moors around Inverness and spend a summer writing. That’s my fantasy vacation! It hasn’t come about but I fill my fantasies by reading books in Scottish settings.
train in Waverley Station in Edinburgh I felt as though I’d come home. Maybe I’d lived there before. The city called to me. I wandered at will and had a great time and met some fantastic people. I also loved the area around Loch Ness (so beautiful!), and Stirling and Balquhidder are gorgeous. Skye had light like I’d never seen, and I could spend a week there just looking out over the sea.
back there again. I haven’t given up hope!
Especially in this season, there is much to be grateful for. There is so much, in fact, how does one limit it to a few? Don’t know… But I’m going to try.
and I learned things I’ve never forgotten. It planted my feet firmly on the ground and centered me. Plus, it gave me a perspective on everything in life since. As hubby says, once you’ve started to jackknife coming down Donner Pass in a blizzard, the meaning of “stress” changes forever more.
experience things most people have not. I’ve been able to write. I’ve enjoyed both working and not working. I’ve been blessed, totally and sincerely. It’s such a wonderful feeling!
I have to say, I am not a very good cook and I’ve become worse since being married. My family used lots of seasoning, so at one time I knew what I was doing with them. But Jack likes no seasoning—not spices, herbs, salt, or pepper. Nothing. He says he likes the taste of food as it is meant to be tasted. So I’ve learned to eat food the same way and that somewhat limits what one can do in the way of creativity. Consequently, my culinary acumen has suffered. I do still have a few dishes I cook and Jack eats them or he fixes a sandwich. (Okay, that’s not accurate. I fix his sandwich.) One of my favorite comfort foods is goulash, or what some call hamburger and macaroni.
with a slice of crusty bread and maybe a salad. Doesn’t matter—it takes me back to my childhood. Funny thing. Years ago when I first started making goulash for Jack and me, it didn’t taste the same as when Mom made it. I asked her why and after relaying how I made it, she asked when I added the secret ingredient. Once I started that, the flavors were the taste of home. See if you can spot the secret ingredient.
heritage. At any rate, this is not a difficult recipe but for some reason, we only had it for holidays and other special dates like birthdays throughout my years of living at home.
I hope you love this dish! It’s got childhood written all over it, though it’s my childhood, not yours. Maybe you’ll want to adopt it, though.